After Dark
by Mini Peacelet
Summary: Set after we meet Rita's husband. Rita's day job is a nurse but by night she works in a club. What happens when a familiar face from the ED appears in the club?
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: **Another new fic from me:3 just a random idea I had. This is set from when we meet Rita's husband. Rita has her day job as a nurse but she also works in a club at night (reasons will be explained in ch2). What happens when her boss appears in the club? I know like no medical knowledge either, so I apologise if it's not accurate. I'm also attempting to write in first person (again) but I'm not all that brilliant at it. This chapter's from Rita's POV. I'd love to know what you think. :) _

_~Mini Peacelet~_

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><p>After Dark - Part 1<p>

"Another vodka and coke please, love." Alcohol particles are suffocating her breath, words slurred and voice husky in her intoxicated matter. She is undoubtably tipsy.

A fake smile succumbs my features, there is really nothing to be joyful about. Nothing. There is no other alternative but to be pleasant and cheerful, though. That's what the customers like. I collect a fresh glass, deposit a scoop of symmetric ice cubes into the base and add the liquids to create the alcoholic concoction, handing it to the female and dropping the cash into the till.

The smokey effects from the luminous lighting in diverse colours that once irritated my dry throat intolerably smoulder though the dusky shadows of the club, providing adequate light and opaque ambience that the customers adored. Strident yet tasteful music reverberated the building, echoing off the walls. The club was considered one of the more classy and sophisticated bars; strictly women only. Drinks were a little more pricey, decor aesthetic and appealing. There was nothing trashy and shabby about this enterprise.

"Rita, table six. A white wine and rosé wine."

Beverages dispensed into wine glasses, balanced skilfully on the circular-shaped, slate slab I pace across the club to the designated table to present their order. The number of customers is gradually increasing, the alcohol is starting to grasp effect as people stagger to the dance floor adorned with beams of dazzling lights, intoxicatedly dancing. My feet are beginning to ache - even after all this time of working here - heels just definitely aren't for me. But they're a requirement.

"A white wine?"

Perched on one of the elegant stools, hands clasped gracefully together and resting tastefully on the glass top table, the brunette's black pencil skirt clutched her flawless curves and her burgundy-red blouse flowed beautifully over her arcs and arches, highlighting her stunning figure. Her outfit was completed with a pair of the female's famous stilettos; black and red to match her attire.

The woman rotates her head and my lips part uncontrollably as the identity of her registers in my mind. Stunned. Equally speechless. It can't be her; yet it is. My boss. Connie Beauchamp. Her perfectly shaped eyebrow is arced, expression hostile and surprised - not in a good way, though.

"That would be mine - thank you." She's polite as my trembling fingers clasp the stem of the glass and place it on the coaster in front of her, then repeat my actions for her company. As I pirouette sharply, desperate to escape the situation, the burning sensation of her bitter gaze roasts my back, heart beat racing. I'm faltering over my steps, legs refusing to comply to my instructions to just walk; drunk, my walk suggests that I am undoubtably drunk despite being stone cold sober.

Suddenly, I'm dreading tomorrow. The piercing expression refining her features is an ominous warning. She's far from happy with her latest discovery. Perhaps exasperated. And tomorrow she would evidently address the issue she had stumbled upon in the environment of her confined office.

An strangled scream hauled me free of my potent trance of pure fear with a start and as I rapidly whirled round on my feet my rich orbs immediately divert around the shadowy atmosphere and locate the origin of the shriek. I can vaguely recognise the voice but with the muffled noise generated from other members of the public I can't be positive. But it sounded like Connie. A fight is escalating in the club between a trio of females, innocent people close by who had attempted to break up the violent conflict have simply ended up involved.

I rush across the club, pushing my way through the cluster of people until I reach the casualty then descending to my knees swiftly, I kick off my stilettos and instantly clasp my hand around the female's wrist to check for a pulse as an initial procedure. It's faint; she's barely conscious. People are watching worriedly, prying to learn of the seriousness of the sustained injuries. I've always been taught that things often look worse than they actually are. I reassure people that I'm a nurse as I continue to check her basic signs and instruct for an ambulance to be called promptly.

"My friend has a complete doctors emergency kit in her car." I glance up momentarily and notice it's the lady that was with Connie earlier.

Nodding in acknowledgement I respond gratefully, "Could you go get it please?" She nods eagerly and dashes off out of the club to retrieve the item whilst I continue to address the injuries and stability of the casualty's condition.

Connie has tottered to her feet, cautiously regaining her equilibrium, and is nursing her left arm as she paces across towards me, I'd noted that she had tumbled during the fight, "And I'm a doctor, so I'll take over until the ambulance crew arrive." Her eyes are casting an icy glare at me that I professionally ignore.

I disregard the brunette's words riskily and continue with my own ambiguous examination. Connie's been drinking and therefore shouldn't be treating anyone - no matter how minor - whilst alcohol is in her system. Her internal anger is bubbling with increasing rage as she attempts to check for a pulse but fails as the throbbing sensation in her wrist becomes too severe and she winces, observing my assessment in bitter silence.

"What do you know, Rita?" She narrows her gaze at me, desiring for medical details on the patient's condition. I comprehend that I have to answer because from the tone of her voice it's obvious that it was a demand, not a request.

I reluctantly recite my observations as the female returns with the doctors emergency bag which I open and begin to flick through the unfamiliar contents as I search for the item I need. Connie instantly locates the element I was looking for despite us not conferring but it was evident that we both shared the same initiative.

The clinical lead attempts to insert the cannula into the woman's arm until I intersect her movements precariously. My breath catches and congregates in the back of my throat momentarily as I steady my nerves before I begin to articulate, "Mrs Beauchamp...withhold your respect but I don't think you are in any fit state to insert that. You've consumed alcohol tonight which is making your fingers tremble. And it's probably not sensible with your wrist either." I state sincerely, pitch wavering faintly as I know there will be consequences for me challenging her ability - especially in front of an audience.

I seize the cannula from her manicured fingertips and pursue locating a vein in the dusky light. Implanting a cannula in the female's lower arm is a tricky procedure with lack of decent light, but I succeed. It's just as a precaution; administrating drugs quickly and effectively is more easy with it should anything happen while we wait for the ambulance.

Invisible steam is evaporating out of the former heart surgeon's ears at a brisk speed. She's angry. Absolutely fuming. But she clenches her teeth and glares furiously at me, containing herself until we are in the privacy of her office tomorrow. She doesn't make public scenes unless it is really necessary.

The ambulance finally arrives and the paramedics appear; it's Dixie and Jeff, both correspondingly perplexed at the reasons behind mine and Connie's presence although both of them are wise enough not to inquire. Priceless wisdom. I approach my boss prudently who is still supporting the arm she landed on tentatively, "You need to get that checked out."

"I don't need to get my wrist checked out, you just think I should." She corrected acrimoniously, "Thank you for your concern, but I am completely fine. There is no point in wasting people's valuable time and resources."

Disagreeing mutedly, I extend my arms and capture the brunette's injured arm in the palms of my hand, rolling the sleeve of her blouse up gently. Examining carefully, I derive a similar conclusion to one she has already made, "Well it doesn't look broken. Perhaps a possible minor fracture? But only x-rays would confirm that. It's probably just a bad sprain, you should still rest and and wear a splint as precaution...which you already know..." I trail off as she sighs exasperatedly.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: **Thank you for the reviews! I love reading them. I hope you like this part. :)_

_~Mini Peacelet~_

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><p>After Dark - Part 2<p>

The ED was exceptionally hectic, and I was for once grateful of the high volume of activity. Generally I'd be grumbling and complaining about the shear quantity of patients gushing into the department; we are virtually up to full capacity. But I indulge myself into my proper vocation and submerge myself in treating minor casualties extra efficiently.

_Anything to help get back into Mrs Beauchamp's good books._

The piercing clicks of the clinical lead's designer shoes reverberated the emergency department - a little later than the time she would typically grace everyone with her presence in the morning. She's big on punctuality and claims to Zoe that she had a meeting this morning hence her delayed arrival but nobody will ever know if that's actually the truth.

Connie strides through her department confidently, rich brown orbs peeled and attentive as she observes each individual member of staff's actions and the current state of everything. It is rare that everyone is on best form during her absence, they all like to slack if they think they can get away with it. The relaxed ambience has soured noticeably.

I can hear her sharp footsteps approaching me, she tugs the pale blue curtains that separate each cubicle and provide privacy fractionally, peering in to see which of her colleagues is present. She does this repeatedly until she finally reaches the cubicle where I'm treating a patient and enters abruptly.

"I apologise Mr..." The brunette falters over his name as she narrows her scrutinising gaze in the direction of his notes, "Mr Harper, but Nurse Freeman is needed elsewhere at this moment in time. We appreciate your patience in this busy period." She steers me away from my patient and back into the centre of the chaotic ED, "Robyn will be with you shortly." She reassures before the male has the chance to object and confirms with the ginger-haired nurse who stutters in disbelief.

"Rita, a word in my office. Now." Her attitude is cold as she escorts me into the confined room labelled as her office and closes the door behind us.

"It's an improvement to see that you are actually attempting to make an effort to reach the target of patients I expect you to treat." Her arms are crossed tightly across her chest, she's stood with poise and assertion in her ridiculous heels that just add to her terrifying power, but there is no trace of praise in her tone. _Emotionless_.

"But despite what you may think, being extra proficient and helpful isn't going to redeem yourself. I won't forget and can't overlook what I discovered last night." Her bitter glare is as cutting and prickly as her manner.

I fumble with my fingers vulnerably, concealing them in the cuffs of my navy NHS hoodie, digging my short nails into the soft fabric anxiously, "You don't understand!" I've managed to assemble some defence combined with a spontaneous burst of fury.

"Well, at least we have an explanation for your poor performance recently." The former heart surgeon states bluntly as she collects a pile of folders from her filing cabinet and deposits them on her desk alongside her computer and then re-engages eye contact with me, "You're right, though. I don't understand. But you better have a damn good explanation."

A frown succumbs my serene features, "I don't have to tell you anything! My personal life is nothing to do with you." Suddenly the anger is bubbling fiercely inside me and the rage is plastered artistically within the edges of my frame.

"It is something to do with me when it has impacts on your work at this hospital in my department." Connie's orbs are penetrating with pure scorn as she slams her hand against the desk strenuously. It's apparent that she is unimpressed with my attitude and is claiming back authority callously.

"Your personal life came right into the centre of this department and I should be suspending you subsequently to your behaviour and antics yesterday, and since your attention is undoubtedly divided between two jobs. A slip of concentration in this industry can be the difference between life and death. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't suspend you?"

I shrug carelessly, "Suspend me then, see if I care. At least I won't have to put up with you barking orders at me all day." I mutter, trailing off towards the end and muting my pitch substantially.

"What was that?" She demands, her teeth are gritted and invisible steam is pouring from her ears, although she knows clearly what I said and doesn't need me to clarify.

"Nothing."

Mrs Beauchamp taps her perfectly manicured fingertips against the table and perches herself gracefully on her leather, swivel chair, icy eyes fixated on me, "Rita, you used to be such a valuable member of staff. But now, I'm not so sure. You've lost focus lately, and seem distracted. How long have you been working at that bar?" She's prying, mentally trying to decipher if the dates correspond.

"Two months maybe, perhaps three." I can't remember and don't really see how it is relevant in all honesty.

"You're work has been slipping considerably since around then. It adds up." She concludes and flicks open a patient file, briefly scanning the content before she tilts her head up and looks at me again, "Quit that job and get yourself sorted out. Your work standards need to improve significantly - and if they do, then we shall forget about all this nonsense regarding your husband. I need a fully functioning ED." She compromises reasonably but the concession just doesn't work for me.

"I can't." I state sincerely, with a hint of disappointment. I adore my job as a nurse, I really do. And I would love to have my entire concentration back on this career - where it belongs rightfully. "I need the money."

"Why?"

I reluctantly flop down on the chair opposite my boss. I have to explain. Need to. Because I need to retain my job, "Since my husband got locked up, money has always been a struggle." A worry. A great pressure. "There used to be two of us contributing towards the mortgage and bills, but now there's just me. Just my single pay cheque. I've been using my savings up until a few months ago, but they've started to run out. Didn't get the promotion I wanted here, so I had no other option but to get a part time job working nights. He won't let me sell the house, he's determined to make things as difficult as possible for me." I exhale a lengthy sigh, loathing have to confide my problems to Connie because I still believe that is absolutely non of her business.

Connie nods, "Well, I appreciate that it must be difficult for you at the moment. Rita, you are the candidate in line for that promotion but I have to wait until I think you are properly ready for it. Which would have been soon until your standards slipped. But if you finish at the bar and start getting back on track, then I'll consider reviewing it earlier than I intended."

"What am I supposed to do until then?" I scoff, it's obvious she doesn't understand the seriousness of my situation. I need that extra income.

She shrugs, it's not really her problem, "We all have been through some challenging times, unfortunately we just have to muddle through it until the circumstances change."

I rise to my feet again swiftly. This is such a waste of time and energy. All she cares about is her precious ED. "Okay. Can I go now? It was already extremely busy out there before I came in here and I need to get back to work."

She nods "Rita," She pauses for a moment as I apprehensively whirl round to face the brunette again, "Well done for last night, you did a good job. But if you ever ever undermine me again then you will deeply regret it." Connie can never compliment or glorify without negativity; it's simply a potent reminder of who is the boss.

Nodding, I verify that I clearly understand, "I won't." I then swiftly departed her office and padded back across the tacky, linoleum surfaced floor to the nurses station to gather the file of my next patient.


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/N:_**_ Sorry for taking ages to update, I decided to concentrate on the advent calendar type fic I was writing in December but never properly finished xD Thank you so much for the reviews! and to those of you who have read! I shall now continue with this fic and try and update regularly. Sorry this update is short, and not the best, but I hope you like it! Debating rewriting this in third person because I am hopeless at writing first person.._

_Anyway, Happy New Year to you all! Hope you have a great, healthy 2015!_

_~Mini Peacelet~_

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><p>After Dark - Part 3<p>

Tedious, brown, paper envelopes are assembling in a stack on my cluttered coffee table. Bills. And more bills. Shoddily overdue. I have discarded them to one side, as if they are insignificant. Government and society are prying for my precious capital that I own very little quantities off. Debt. I am undoubtedly immersed in huge cash demands that I am immaturely ignoring in the hope they will just magically fade away, despite comprehending that my desires will never happen.

Bills are all I ever receive in the post now, than and repeated handwritten letters from my husband. I ignore them as well, tossing them into a differing, accumulating pile.

A sensible choice would be to open all the letters, focus properly and carefully read through their contents whilst trying to decipher a plan of how I am going to escape this hole I am now trapped in. But no. My washing is mounting into precarious heaps of crumbled attires - that also needs organising and completing. The dirty dishes are piling on my kitchen counter, awaiting for me to tend to them.

There are a hundred and one things I should be doing right now.

Yet instead of accomplishing something more constructive, I'm perched on the edge of my threadbare sofa clutching a bag of frozen peas enveloped in a tea towel to the side of my head and consuming a large - straight - vodka.

She had a good punch. A very good punch. Better than I had anticipated. Resigning should never be accompanied with an act of violence. But it did. Obviously, had I been expecting the rage of violence then I would have ducked; self defence. But her fist contacted with my face before I had the chance to even blink.

The vodka is to numb everything. It is the best painkiller; ever. It fixes everything. Well, temporarily. An invisible mask. The colourless beverage had originally burned my throat with every single drop that trickled continuously into my mouth and all the way to my stomach, but the feeling it provided was truly fantastic and worth any pain.

\~\~\~\~\~

I'm grouchy this morning. Acutely grumpy. This hangover is a pure curse. Absolute torture. The satisfying impacts of the neat vodka have been exchanged and replaced with a pounding headache and dull, constant aches throughout my limbs from falling asleep on the sofa in an obtuse position.

I scuff my feet along the frosty ground, fists inserted into the pockets of my NHS hoodie as I lethargically amble to the hospital, enthusiasm for the day ahead absent. "Oi! Watch where you're going!" I hiss irritably - spitefully - as a young girl has just come rushing into me, colliding with potency. I am exceptionally petulant this morning, and so not in the mood for some wild, rebellious child, "You should be with your parents! The hospital is no place for a kid to run..."

"Grace! Will you come here! Don't you ever - ever - run off like that again!" I'm interrupted and don't get the opportunity to finish my reprimanding as Connie appears, dashing in her Louboutins and grasps hold of her daughter's hand firmly. The clinical lead tilts her head upwards and perceives me as she learns who her child ran into, "Nurse Freeman, I'm sorry that Grace bumped into you, and she's sorry to aren't you?" With a nudge from her mother, the girl nodded feebly, "But it's my place to put her in line, not yours." Her words are laced with disdain, a subtle warning.

Nodding, I clarify that I understand. I don't have the energy to disagree or argue right now. As I go to continue on my way and enter the ED, I pause in my tracks as the brunette speaks again, "What happened to your face?" Pirouetting around, I shrug futilely.

She extends her slender arm promptly, cautiously inspecting the injury I've sustained. No amounts of foundation and make-up was sufficient enough to conceal the red swelling and faint shapes of pale purples, greens and yellows that are gradually forming. "How did this happen?" She questions professionally, tenderly prodding at my cheek with her fingertips in examination.

"It's nothing," I swat her hand away, defence and reluctant to confess any great details, "I quit the job - just like you wanted." Narrowing my orbs, I emphasis the final section of my sentence to hint that she was partially to blame for my injury, "I'm fine, so just drop it please. I have to go, otherwise I am going to be late for my shift." And with that, I dash into the hospital and into the staffroom to quickly change into scrubs before my shift starts. I desperately need to begin impressing as I need this promotion as soon as possible. Now, because of being delayed, I don't even have time to satisfy my strong craving for coffee; guess I'll have to wait until my break. Tick tock, tick tock.


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: **Thank you for the reviews, I love reading them! I hope you like these updates and that it's up to standard! Enjoy. X_

_~Mini Peacelet~_

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><p>After Dark - Part 4<p>

Perched upon one of the stools in the staffroom, I stir the teaspoon vacantly around the mug of steamy coffee that balances on the counter, dissolving the sugar granules and blending the elements that contribute to a decent brew. Hopefully, this strong coffee will relieve the symptoms of my dire hangover; or at least mask them for a while. Because this feeling is just grim.

I extend my slender arm and my fingers fumble with the biscuit packet, seizing another chocolate bourbon into my grasp and dunk it into my beverage - for the correct length of time that I've perfected over my life so the biscuit didn't break and submerge in my coffee. The staffroom door abruptly flies open as I go to bite another chunk off the bourbon and Connie's daughter darted into the room and dived beneath the kitchenette counter, curling up into the foetal position.

Shifting off the stool, I descend to my knees promptly and observe the young girl momentarily; her sobs are muffled and she's evidently distressed and dismayed about something. "Hey, it's okay." My tone is tender and melodious; soothing. I reach out to touch Grace's arm reassuringly as she jumps guardedly at my words. "You don't need to hide from me," I whisper, "Why don't you come out from under here, hey? And then you can tell me why you're so upset." My subtle encouragements eases her tense muscles although her wide eyes are still very cautious.

"Come on, I even have a packet of chocolate biscuits I'll share with you." She smiles weakly and clutches my hand as she emerges from beneath the counter, and we go sit together on the material couch - accompanied by the bourbons, as promised.

She clasps a biscuit from the packet and thanks me politely, beginning to nibble at the edge of the chocolate bourbon. And we bask the muted atmosphere fleetingly.

"What's got you so upset then? Because, a little birdy tells me that you have a lovely smile." I nudge her gently with my elbow and her cheeks flush a delicate scarlet as do the tips of her elf like ears - inherited from her mother - and she stifles a smile before sighing deeply and tugging at a loose thread on the cushion cover.

"Mummy doesn't care about me." The innocence and gloominess laces her words as her rich chocolate orbs divert around the potent coffee bean smelling room anxiously.

A frown succumbs my previously serene features, "Your Mummy does care about you, you're her baby so of course she does!" I try to comfort the girl with reassurance, "What makes you think that, hmm?"

"She doesn't." Grace states with a huff, purely miserable with a hint of anger, "She never has time for me at home, I don't really see her. She's too busy with work, I only asked for the iPad charger and she got annoyed with me."

"Your Mummy is a really good doctor," It was true, Connie was talented at her profession, "But sometimes she gets stressed and being a doctor can be really busy as well. She does love you, sweetheart." I promise because I know deep down that the clinical lead does. But Connie is yet to quite understand or comprehend that it is virtually impossible to mix the role of her career with the role of a mother. She needs to be one or the other at a time, not attempt to be both and fail.

She scowls at me, probably not completely believing what I've just said and shrugs futilely, "I'm bored. What am I supposed to do now until Mummy gets me the charger for my iPad?" She folds her arms across her chest and exhales another sigh.

I regain my equilibrium and tell her to help herself to some more biscuits if she wants, "I guess I'll just have to try and keep you occupied then." I smile as I wander across the staffroom to the cupboard and pull out a new box of the disposable gloves that we use in the ED when treating patients, and grab some marker pens in an assortment of colours.

"What are you doing?" The girl's expression is perplexed as she observes curiously, rising to her feet and taking another biscuit.

"Watch, and then you'll see." I flash her an infectious grin, my pearly-white teeth displayed momentarily. I then tear open the box of gloves and pull one out and blow into it - like I'm blowing up a balloon - and tie the opening closed. Clasping a marker pen, I start to draw a stupid face on the inflated glove - I lack any artistic skills, though - and with a gentle tap, it hovers through the air. Grace grins and comes skipping across to join in and together we mess around with the sterile, rubber gloves.

Connie peers through the glass panel in the staffroom door whilst attempting to locate her daughter and sighs softly, perceiving us for a few minutes before pacing away, Louboutins clicking piercingly against the tacky, linoleum surface. But we don't notice, engulfed in our new game.

\~\~\~\~\

My shift has ended. Finally! It's now time for me to go home. And I couldn't be more ecstatic. With my bag slung over my shoulder, I stroll down the maze of streets to reach my house. As I near my home, I hastily halt as I observe a van parked outside my house, and although it's dark, I squint and can see that a notice has been attached to my front door.

The men in the van are debt collectors.

My breath catches in my throat and accumulates there causing me to splutter uncontrollably. My heart beat is racing. Twice as fast as normal. No, three times quicker at least. I've been late with several payments of my mortgage; well, that's a lie. I haven't been paying my mortgage - I simply can't afford it! And with my husband being so uncooperative in refusing to grant me permission to sell the house, my options have been limited. But now we have lost his -_ our_ - home, and I instantly know that he is going to blame me. My stomach churns violently at the thought.

I'm allowed to collect some of my personal possessions, tossing a load of clothes and essentials into a couple of large holdalls. They won't consent to me staying there, though. Not unless I pay a heft percentage of the outstanding debt upfront. Which I obviously cannot.

So I'm equipped with my personal stuff and leisurely trailing back to the emergency department because I have nowhere else to go. I hope that there is a vacant on-call room that I can occupy until I find a more permanent solution. And I hope that no one sees me enter and asks questions.


End file.
